I wrote this one shot some time ago, it's kind of (but not really) the sequel to 'Match of Titans'.
Summary: He wasn't planning on fighting for people who were willing to paint him in a bad light, who were willing to use him and who were willing to sacrifice him to save themselves. He wasn't willing to fight for hypocrites, and he made sure to tell them that.
Warnings: no warnings.
Disclaimer: not mine!
Enjoy!
Fighting the fight - with words
He stood on the stage, his back ramrod straight and his hands shaking with nervousness. He couldn't help but wonder just why he had agreed to speak before Ministry members, the press and some of the most important members of the wizarding world. Especially because he hadn't planned on giving a pep talk and stating just what a fine job the minister and his co-workers were doing.
"Five minutes left," Rufus Scrimgeour told him softly, his yellowish eyes sharp with an almost predatory light that matched his lion-like hair. He just nodded towards him.
He watched on as the last people walked into the large conference room and seated themselves at on with their names marked chairs. There were supposed to be some 200 guests – all dressed fancifully – but he was quite sure that more people had managed to sneak inside the room.
He fidgeted slightly with the cuffs of his formal robe. Hermione had forced him into an emerald green robe that 'brought out his eyes' with dark dress pants and a clean white dress shirt underneath. She had cast some spell on his eyes that temporarily allowed him to see – it would only last for a little over an hour and it was a disaster to cast as the spell was difficult and long – and his dark brown hair had been slightly flattened. All in all, he looked as posh as he could, which was still miles away from someone like Malfoy.
Exactly five minutes after the minister had last spoken to him the man walked towards the very front of the stage. The doors of the room closed with an almost inaudible click but it was loud enough to bring the attention of the guests to the front of the room. The conversations slowly died down.
The minister cleared his throat to get the attention of the last people onto him.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen!" Scrimgeour started off with a polite smile, "and a warm welcome to this conference in which you're all invited to ask Harry Potter – our saviour, our Chosen one – some questions."
Shark-like smiles and grins appeared on the faces of some of the guests.
"Now, before we start with our round of questions, Harry Potter would like to say something," the minister stated with a grand movement of his arm towards him, "please, a warm welcome for our saviour!"
Applause sounded as Harry made his way towards the edge of the stage to stand next to the minister.
"Thank you for your kind words, minister," he stated, glad that his voice didn't shake as much as he had feared it would, "and thank you guests, for your warm welcome."
Not for the first time was he glad that he practiced the rest of the speech with Hermione.
"Like Minister Scrimgeour said, before you're allowed to ask questions I would like to state something," he stated strongly, "but first I would like to start off with some questions of my own."
Soft murmurs reached his ears but he ignored them in favour of drawing his wand.
"I'll note down the answer to every question I ask in the air with the number of the question, "he stated as he wrote a large number one in the air. It hadn't taken him long to figure out what Riddle had done in his second year when he written down his name in the Chamber of Secrets.
Though he should probably state it more like: it hadn't taken Hermione long before she had figured out what Riddle had done, taught it to Ron and him and he had been quick to catch on.
"The first question is an easy one: how many of you present have children?" he asked, "to answer the question, jus raise your wand and cast Lumos."
The guests shared confused looks before they stared at him. After a couple of seconds they realised he was serious and wands were drawn. A majority of the people raised their wands and after a quick wand-count he wrote the number 174 behind the number one.
"How many of these children are old enough to attend Hogwarts or another, similar school?" he asked as he wrote the number two in the air. The majority of the people once again raised their wands though there were less lightened wands than before.
He wrote the number 146 behind the second number not long after that question.
"How many of these children are older than 17?" he asked softly. Only a couple of wands were raised and after a quick count he added a 38 after the number three.
Soft sounds of confusion could be heard but he ignored them all as he asked his next question, "how many children are between fifteen and seventeen?"
59 was added behind the number four not long after.
The minister searched his face as he asked his next question, "how many people have lost family members thanks to Death Eaters?"
It was clear that Scrimgeour had realised that something was going on, something he wasn't going to like. But there was nothing he could do.
124 Lumos were cast and he quickly wrote the amount down before he continued.
"And now onto my real question: how many of the 59 children are allowed to fight in this war against Voldemort?" he asked as he cocked his head. He wondered how many people would guess what he was trying to do by asking all these questions.
No wands were raised.
"Mister Potter, what are you trying to say?" Scrimgeour asked.
He ignored the man and asked, "how many of you are no longer fighting this war or have never fought against Death Eaters?"
He kept his voice neutral and toneless and his face open but people still started to murmur angrily.
"No answer?" he stated softly, "let me answer it for you: the majority of the people present tonight have not fought against the Death Eaters or Voldemort or have stopped fighting against him."
"How dare you!" some shouted from the audience, "we tried everything-"
"You tried," he repeated mockingly, "let's ask a new question: who would expect their child to fight in this war?"
Once again, no wands were raised.
"No one," he stated flatly, "there are over 200 adult wizards here. 124 of whom have lost family members to Voldemort. 38 people here have children over 17 and 59 over fifteen. No one present wants their child to fight in the war."
He looked around sharply, "how many of you present believe in divination? In prophecies and trying to see the future?"
Confused murmurs were heard but only 21 wands were light.
"To conclude my questions: no one here wants their children to fight and a lot of people lost family members in this war," he stated, "yet every single one of you demand of a sixteen year old boy – who has lost almost everything in this war – to fight against a madman four times his age because of a prophecy only 21 people here believe in. A madman who have stated multiple times that said boy is no match for him."
Scrimgeour opened his mouth to say something but Harry was faster, "a war that has started long before I was born. And yet it still rages."
"I'm not going to fight this war for you," he said sharply, "every single one of you here can fight against Voldemort yet you all sit back and expect me to end it all. So why should I end it for you when you can all do it yourself?"
"You were chosen!" a man on the last row said loudly.
"By a prophecy you don't believe in," Harry deadpanned, "made by a woman who is drunk most of the time and likes to 'predict' the death of one student per class."
"I'll fight Voldemort, but only when he attacks me or what has remained of my loved ones," he snarled as multiple people stood, "I'll not fight for people who can easily defend themselves but won't. I'll not fight for those who have called me a liar and an attention seeker one moment and their saviour and a chosen one the next. I'll not fight for a Ministry whose members use Blood Quills and Crucio's on students and who send Dementors after people because they need to be seen as strong. I'll not fight for those who use me to make themselves seem better or those who use my name to get rich. I'll not fight for hypocrites and people who do not listen."
"I'll not fight for you!" he repeated strongly before he bowed shallowly, "thank you."
He jumped down from the stage and walked towards the door before people could realise what he had done. The moment he had nearly crossed the room, people started to shout at him. He ignored them all as he left the room.
They had it coming and they knew it.
Chaos, outrage and fear ruled as he disappeared from the building, a small smile on his face.
Hermione would be proud of him.
I hope you enjoyed this one shot!
Reviews are appreciated,
~Marwana